


How To Be Us

by Violet_Eyes_and_Candlelight



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gendry learning how to be a lord, I love Gendry, I needed a happy ending, New Friendships, New Ideas for New Times, Post Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 20:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18947968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Eyes_and_Candlelight/pseuds/Violet_Eyes_and_Candlelight
Summary: What happens to Gendry after the Battle of Winterfell?How does a bastard boy become a lord?What happens after the girl he loves sails away?This is what happens.





	How To Be Us

Gendry felt like he had been living in a dream. 

After that battle, the war, with the Night King, and all that he had seen. That little Mormont girl, crushed by a damn giant. Bodies that were long dead, but somehow up and fighting. Dragons roaring and crashing into each other in mid-air.

Especially that night with Arya. He felt almost sure that he had to be dead, because how else could he have been given such a perfect gift as being chosen by that wonder of a woman?

Seeing her at the meeting in the ruins of the Dragon Pit, she looked so right, leading the charge for Jon with her sister. He knew how much she loved Jon, the no-longer-bastard, but still and forever a Stark. The bond they had surpassing what Jon had with any other Stark child. Seeing her ready to kill for him with no hesitation, she was so very right.

She was the Warrior Wolf. And she was leaving him.

\-----

Arriving at Storm’s End, Gendry truly realized how out of his depth he was. Wandering the halls, his halls, all he could think was that he knew nothing of how to be a lord of anything. 

Sitting in the room that (he assumed) could serve as his office was where he met his first friend of the Storm Lands.

“My lord, if you have a moment?” Gendry started, but composed himself before beckoning the young man in.

The man who had spoken was small for one with such a commanding voice. Standing smaller than Gendry himself, he was dressed simply but was cleaner than others Gendry had encountered. 

“If I may lord, I wish to offer my services to you. My name is Jeran Cantell. My father, Stefan, served Lord Renly while he was Lord here. Given that my father is now too old to resume his duties, I thought that I could relieve him and assist you instead.”

“And what do you know of me, sir Jeran?”

“I have heard many things of you my lord, but I say that none of that matters until I know what kind of man you are, lord.” The man turned to gaze out the window, half of which was a view of the large fields that surrounded the castle, and the other half being a view of the sea, which today was a deep almost-indigo blue. “I have lived here my entire life. I know this place, these people. I want to help you help them, if you will allow me that, my lord.”

Gendry considered what Jeran had said. “As I am in desperate need of an advisor, I would welcome the help. On two conditions.” The man turned to face him once again. “I ask that you call me Gendry at all times. And, I ask that you tell me to my face if you believe that I am fucking everything up.”

Jeran smiled, and brought his hand up to shake on their deal. “I would be delighted, Gendry.”  
\-----

He walked the streets of Storm Town (not a very creative name, if you ask him) shrouded in a new cloak that probably cost more than what he made in a year as an apprentice. 

It was early morning; the mist from the night before not entirely cleared yet, but the town awake and bustling for hours already. He liked to do this when he could. Given that he was still new to Storm’s End, having only been there for a handful of months, the people did not know his face. He could disappear while getting to know the people he called his own. 

Dropping coins in the hands of those begging on the sides of the dirt street, he let his mind wander back to when he belonged to these masses. It was only luck that someone had paid for him to apprentice with Tobho Mott, and he knew how differently his life could have gone had that not happened. 

He paused where he was, on the corner of two seemingly identical streets. Smiling, he turned around, marching back in the direction of his castle, the mist in the air curling around him as though trying to embrace him. 

\-----

“Apologies, let me see if I understand” Jeran said, hands rubbing his temples as he leaned over his desk, which was set directly across from Gendry’s own. “You want to demand that every craftsman in Storm’s End take on an apprentice? And that you, the Lord Paramount, will assist with the cost if they cannot find the coin to pay for an apprentice? That the man will get a bonus if the apprentice is a bastard?!”

Pacing in front of the other man’s desk, Gendry could not help but be excited. “Think of it Jeran! We could create a new industry in the Stormlands! I’ll write to King Bran, propose a deal of slowly working up to supplying him with all the weapons for the King’s Guard, the Royal Fleet, all of it! We train the blacksmiths ourselves at first, until they can make worthy-enough weapons. Then each man gets an apprentice to keep on and pay for...for five years. Ten years, if we have to give them the money to pay the apprentice. It’ll take a few years, but by the time we can produce enough weapons, we’ll have enough money from the crown to support it!

“The Stormlands have never had a trade that far reaching before. We’ve always been able to support ourselves, just ourselves. Do you really think relying on the crown’s money would be a good thing?” his friend replied. 

“This isn’t about relying on the crown, or even creating ties to them. We could sell to Dorne too for all I care,” Gendry walked behind his desk. “This is about our people. Raising them up, giving them something to be proud of. Something we can be known for, besides the Baratheons and all they've done.” Finishing, he slumped down into his chair, taking a drink from the glass of wine on his desk. 

Inspecting his friend, Jeran could see the light in Gendry’s eyes, and couldn’t remember his lord looking so riveted by anything else in the months that he had been overseeing the Stormlands. He knew that Gendry was not like the other lords that he had known in his life, his heart was too good to be distracted by his new wealth or power. 

Drawing out a bare sheet of parchment, Jeran opened his inkwell, and looked up to meet his friends gaze. “So, where do you propose we start?”

\-----

Given that he was a lord, Gendry knew it was only so long that he could go without being wed. He had lost count of how many highborn men of the Stormlands had come to him offering their daughters to be his bride. He would always hear them out, before sending them on their way as quickly as he could manage.

How could he even honestly consider their proposals when these men insisted on leaving their daughters at home, so that he would never know their opinions on being offered to him as though on a platter. 

Jeran came to him, only a few days after his twenty-sixth name day, wearing a stern look on his face and speaking of some girl called Kaenna Swann.

“Honestly Gendry, you have to at least attempt to find a wife. There are rumors about your, erm, interest in women, that are a threat to you.” Jeran hastened after him as Gendry left the office in search of some food from the kitchens. 

“Please”, his friend began again, “just meet her. She’s the daughter of the younger brother of Lord Swann of Stonehelm. She’s fully educated, even trained as an apprentice to the castle healer when she reached twenty. I’ve heard countless times of her brilliance as well as her kindness. She might be able to give even you the run-around with her witt.”

Gendry came to a halt, and turned to regard the man that had become his closest friend. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face. “Very well. Invite her here for the Festival of Summer Rain next month. Happy?”

“Immensely, your lordship.” Laughing, Gendry pushed on Jeran’s shoulder, knocking him out of the mocking bow he had sunk into. 

\-----  
The lady Kaenna was a quiet sort of beauty, but she held a spark behind her green eyes that spoke of a deeper witt. They walked arm and arm through the town, basking in the scent of vanilla cakes and watching as children ran past them, trailing blue streamers behind them.

“This is wonderful,” Kaenna said softly, “I almost forgot how happy people became at the Festival. After my aunt died so close to the start of summer, you see, my uncle couldn’t bring himself to attend. My parents and I would stay back to be with him.”

“That was kind of you,” Gendry replied. “Is there anything you wish to see before we return to the castle, my lady?” Gendry turned his head slightly to see Jeran following loosely behind them, eyes stuck to the back of Kaenna’s head. 

After a moment’s pause, the lady replied, “I would enjoy seeing the Wishing Stream, at the edge of town? I heard a maid speaking of it earlier today, and it sounds lovely.”

“Absolutely, my lady.” Turning, Gendry addressed his friend, “ Jeran, would you escort the lady? I must go check with Sir Aster about the fire he suffered two weeks back.”

After stammering his assent, Jeran stepped up, red faced, and offered his arm to Kaenna. Gendry watched as the two of them walked off, speaking quietly to each other, both equally red of face. He took a deep breath, before continuing to walk the streets alone. 

Later, Jeran found him as he sat before the fire in the great hall. 

“So,” his friend questions as he brought up his own chair, “You don’t fancy her?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Gendry took a moment to swirl around the wine in his glass before his next statement, “But I can see that you do.” The other man began to sputter, but Gendry took pity on him and cut him off. “Jeran, don’t worry. I want you to be happy, and she is a wonderful woman.”

Jeran deflated in his chair. “How could I even pursue her? She is accustomed to more than...me.”

Gendry could not stop the smile that came to his face, which in turn brought out anger from his friend.

“Don’t laugh!” He all but yelled as he rose to his feet. “She’s beautiful, and smart, and I have nothing!”

“My friend, “Gendry said through his laughter, “will you sit down! Do you really think I wouldn’t give you anything after all that you’ve done for me?”

Jeran stared wide-eyed at him as he took a seat once again. “What...what do you mean?”

Finishing his drink, Gendry deposited his glass on the table beside his chair. “Oh, I was thinking you could choose from any unoccupied holding within a two-days ride? I wouldn’t want to lose my best advisor, or my friend. 

Gendry was almost knocked over by the force of his friend’s hug. 

\-----

Gendry could feel the heat of the burning metal on his face, reveling in the soothing motion of bringing the hammer down again and again on the crude sword in front of him. He was older now, soon to reach thirty, but just as strong as he had been when he was merely twenty. In moments like this, he could forget about being a Lord, and lose himself in who he used to be, a bastard with a skill. 

He was so distracted that he did not notice the tiny old woman that had entered the forge until she cleared her throat. Twice, and loudly, to carry over the sound of metal on metal. Gendry spun around so quickly that he sliced his finger on the burning metal at his disposal. He muttered a curse under his breath, grabbing a rag to absorb the blood. 

“Apologies, my Lord,” she said as she curtsied low.

“No, please, I’m sorry. I have a tendency to get lost in my head when I work,” Gendry held up his bleeding hand to show as proof.

“The mark of a true craftsman, or so I hear,” he thought he could hear a smile in her remark, but her face remailed collected.

“Can I help you, Miss...?”

The woman began to pace around the room, inspecting the weapons that were tacked up on the walls. She ran he finger down the staff of an ornate spear he had made many weeks back. “I have heard many thing about you, Gendry Baratheon. A bastard of King’s Landing, risen all the way up to a Lord of Storm’s End. Quite the life that you have led it seems.”

Gendry kept his front to her as she made her way around the room, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am not ashamed to be a bastard, if that it what you are looking for.”

“Oh no,” she replied, “I am not looking for anything. It seems that your upbringing has inspired you. Demanding that every bastard be able to learn a trade, given the Stormlands something to produce. I hear that the weapons you produce here are in demand from Dorne to The Vale.”

He shifted uncomfortably, “I am only doing what I know how, in a way that will benefit the people that have become mine. It’s not their fault they got a bastard as a Lord, but since I am, I wanted to help the others like me.”

She continued to walk in circles around the forge. “I also hear that you are even letting girls train to fight. That your bannermen include the women who want to defend your lands.”

Feeling his heart twist uncomfortably in his chest, thinking of her, he struggled to reply, “One of the fiercest fighters I knew was a woman. She was the best I have ever seen, still to this day.”

Humming her acknowledgement, the woman turned and walked towards him, stopping only a handful of paces from him. She eyed him up and down, pausing to stare intently into his eyes. Something about her struck him as familiar. Possibly it was something in her eyes?

“You are a good man, Lord Gendry. You are still a good man.”

Behind him, the spear fell from the wall, clanking to the ground. Gendry went to right the spear that has fallen, but when he turned back, he was alone in his forge once again. 

\-----

It was a stormy night, the winds howling and stirring up the sea in Shipbreaker Bay so that the waves pounded and beat against the walls of the castle. The celebration for Jeran and Kaenna was well past its prime, the couple having retired some hours earlier. Gendry had never seen his friend look quite so happy, or so enchanted, and the bride had looked radiant as expected. 

But sleep had evaded Gendry as of yet, so he found himself wandering his halls, the place that had become his home over the past 10 years. Stepping out into the cold night air, Gendry walked along the high wall that kept the ocean water from spilling into the interior of his castle. 

The moon was high at this time, the ocean mist creating sparkles in the air that disappeared just as fast as they were born. The world around him was dark, swallowing any light that tried to pierce it, that he did not see the figure standing halfway down the walk until he was a mere five paces from them. 

“Hello there,” Gendry called over the noise of the waved. “Needed a break from the festivities?”

The figure did not respond, continuing to look out across the sea. Taking a step closer, Gendry could only see dark brown hair spilling from under a dark hood. “Could I have your name, stranger?”

“Quite the party you had down there Lord Gendry,” the person’s voice stirred something deep inside Gendry, like a dream or a memory he couldn’t quite reach. “Certainly uncommon, gifting a lordship and holdings to a castle steward.”

Momentarily stunned, Gendry answered, “Sir Jeran is a dear friend, why not do for him something akin to what was done for me?” The question hung in the air, unanswered. Slowly, the figure drew down their hood and turned to face him. 

Older, weathered, and with the addition of a scar running from the side of their nose over her cheek, but still her. Gendry could not take in a full breath. 

Arya Stark stood in front of him. After so many years, seeing her again froze his lungs, his eyes locked on hers. 

“Hello, Lord Baratheon,” Arya Stark said, her voice unchanged from the time that they were both young, and he was far less capable than he was now. 

Gendry stepped closer, closing the distance between them, still unable to for a coherent thought besides she’s here, she’s really here. 

Bringing her hand up to his face, Arya settled her hand on his cheek, giving him a small smile. Her hand was warm, and warmth seemingly radiated from that point outward until it was all he could feel. “You still look good, Gendry.”

Finally he found his voice. “Arya,” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” her hand dropped from his face, and he immediately missed the contact as she walked slightly away, “I couldn’t exactly live on a boat for the rest of my life, now could I? I saw what I wanted to see, and I had to come back some time. Sansa rebuilt the North, and I thought Maybe I could just fall in and have a life there. But no matter how I may have tried, something was missing.” She turned back to face him again. “You, Gendry Baratheon, haven’t left my mind for ten years.”

Gendry had to pause, he licked his lips, “I thought, you said that this wasn’t you?”

“It’s not,” she answered sharply. “I’ll never be the perfect lady of the house. But, seeing as you are a lord who insists on keeping his own forge running, I thought that, maybe, we could figure out how to be us.”

Gendry could hardly believe what he was hearing, what this woman was saying. Rushing forward, he took Arya’s face in his hands, “If there is an Us, it can look like whatever you want. 

She smiled again, and leaned forward, slotting her lips against his. The wind, the cold, the whole world fell away. All he knew was that she was here in front of him, and she was perfect, and she was everything he could ever want

And she had come back. She had come back to him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing or posting any type of fan-fiction, and I am very small and very afraid, so please be nice! :)


End file.
